


take this to your apartment dayz

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Somewhat, again not weird i swear, andy is forever the voice of reason, i just love tttyg patrick, idk if pete actually broke a coffee machine, its not weird i promise, joe x his van, not beta read except for like a few snippets that inspired me to write this, patrick complains a lot, patrick won't let him live it down, patrick x the coffee machine, pete broke the coffee machine, take this to your grave era, the mystery of the lettuce, there is barely any plot, van days van - character, yes she is a character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:27:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24144355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Pete woke up, he was having a good day. This quickly changes.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	take this to your apartment dayz

**Author's Note:**

> i was impossibly bored and came across a fic I started writing last year that i abandoned. there were a couple parts that made me laugh so i said fuck it and rewrote it to be...this. there is barely any plot, i just wanted to write whiny 2003 tttyg era Patrick bc she is my favourite. i wish tttyg patrick was my gf.

When Pete woke up, he was having a good day. He got out of bed no problem, he got dressed, it took half an hour instead of his usual hour in front of the mirror trying to get his hair right, and despite it being February and fucking freezing, the sun was shining. It was a good day.

When he shut his door behind him and walked into the main body of the apartment, where they had their shitty sofa in front of their shitty TV, with their even shittier coffee table in between, the sunlight from outside was still streaming in, and it still felt like a good day.

Patrick was sitting on the sofa—not so much sitting on it as being... _absorbed_ by it—bleary-eyed and staring at nothing.

"Morning!" Pete said sunnily, and Patrick flinched.

"Mornin'," he grunted, squinting at the television like he was watching it without his glasses, despite the fact that the TV was turned off and Patrick was definitely wearing his glasses.

"You're up early," Pete commented, walking past Patrick and his vegetative state, into the kitchen. The clock above one of the windows read 9:34 but the actual time was 10:34 because they never changed it after daylight savings time and they couldn't be bothered to. It was strange to see Patrick awake at any hour before noon. You were lucky to see him before two or three in the afternoon.

"Yeah," Patrick said, his voice still rough. It was completely likely that Patrick was still asleep and sleep-talking. He scowled and said, "we have a meeting with the label."

Pete stopped in the middle of the kitchen. "Fuck," he said. "We do?"

"Uhuh. Something about the album, I don't fuckin' know I don't care," Patrick said, sounding exhausted. "Are you making coffee?"

"I am now," Pete said, moving to the one expensive thing they had in their apartment. Even then, they hadn't bought it themselves, Pete's mom gave it to them because she had bought a new one and didn't need it anymore.

Pete turned on the coffee maker. It made an alarming sound, not too far from the sound of a printer. That probably wasn't a good sound for a coffee machine to make.

After a moment, it was clear that no coffee was being made, so Pete tried to turn it on again, and it sparked. He jumped back, crashing into Patrick, who had gotten up to inspect after the only thing in the apartment that he really cared about made a noise it shouldn't have.

"You broke the fucking coffee machine," Patrick said tiredly.

"Oh, did I? I hadn't noticed, thank you so much for bringing that to light."

Patrick sighed and walked back over to the worn sofa, letting it absorb him again, and went back to staring at the TV. It was still turned off. Pete would offer to turn it on for him but, well, he wasn't sure Patrick had even noticed it was off.

Pete turned away from the coffee maker and started rooting through the fridge and the cabinets around it for something to eat for breakfast. 

Joe appeared out of his room and wandered into the kitchen, ignoring Pete and Patrick and turning the coffee maker on. It made the same angry printer noise that it made at Pete, and Joe asked, "the _fuck_?" to no-one in particular

"Pete broke it," Patrick said from the sofa. "Do you know what the label meeting is about?" He had finally turned around and was staring over the back of the couch at Joe.

"Not a clue dude," Joe shrugged. "Andy probably knows."

"Do you think we could convince Andy to get us breakfast?" Pete asked from inside the fridge. He pulled his head out and closed it. "All we have is a week old bag of lettuce."

"Which the fuck one of us bought lettuce?" Patrick asked, frowning in confusion.

Pete and Joe ignored him.

"I thought there was a box of PopTarts somewhere?" Joe asked, and Pete shook his head.

"You ate them," Pete said pointedly.

Joe drew out a long " _ohhhhhhhhhhh_ ," sound and nodded. "Yeah. Sounds like me."

"Guys!" Patrick said, raising his voice to get their attention. Pete and Joe both turned to him. "Seriously, who the fuck bought lettuce?"

**/ / / / / / / / / / /**

"If those meetings are gonna be so pointless every time, why do all four of us have to go?" Andy asked as the band walked back out to the van after the meeting. "Like, we all already knew the recording schedule, we talked about it the last meeting. If we really had to talk about again, we could have just sent Pete."

"And why do they have to be so early?" Patrick countered, buried in his five layers of clothes, his hands deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. 

"At least it's over now," Pete pointed out, as the four reached the van and Joe started to fumble through his pockets for his keys. "C'mon Joe, let's get in the van, it's freezing out here."

"Give me a-" Joe started, searching through every pocket he had until he triumphantly pulled out a battered pair of keys. "Second."

"Dude, hurry up, I think my eyeballs are gonna freeze," Patrick complained.

Joe huffed. "Would you relax? It's like, 25 degrees. Your eyeballs don't freeze in 25-degree weather. That's at least like, _minus_ 25."

Andy and Pete glanced at each other, watching the conversation play out in front of them.

Patrick rolled his eyes, proving that they were, in fact, not freezing over. "Open the fucking door, Trohman."

"Sir yes sir," Joe said, shoving his key into the lock in the door. He twisted it to unlock the van door, except it didn't budge. He tried it again. And then again.

"So...problem," he said, leaving the key in the lock and turning to his bandmates.

Patrick looked at Pete beside him and very calmly announced: "I am going to fucking _scream_."

"No one is doing any screaming," Andy said. "Joe, dude, don't you keep a crowbar in the back for when exactly this happens?"

Joe, staring at the icy ground underneath their feet, mumbled something inaudible.

"What?" Pete asked.

Joe cleared his throat and repeated: "the back doors don't open from the outside anymore."

"You have got to be fucking _kidding_ me," Patrick whined. "I hate this fucking van!" He kicked at the tire by his foot, and the van shook slightly.

The band stood and watched it wobble.

"Today was supposed to be a good day," Pete said sadly, as the van stilled.

"I am cold. I had to get up ass-crack early. Pete broke the coffee maker," Patrick listed. "Now the _stupid fucking van_ won't open."

"Hey! Stop bad-mouthing her!" Joe said, leaning against the van and patting its side. "She can hear you!"

Patrick glared at him.

"Oookay," Andy said, gently tugging Patrick back by the hoodie underneath his jacket, away from Joe, hoping to avoid a crime of passion in the next thirty seconds. "Pete, do you have your cell?"

Pete started patting himself down, then shook his head. Patrick now looked about zero point three seconds from committing the aforementioned crime of passion.

"That's okay!" Andy said, a little forcefully. "I think there's a diner nearby that has a phone they'd let us use. Patrick, why don't you go find that?"

Patrick sighed. "Sure. Where am I going?"

"I know the place he's talking about, I'll come with," Pete said, and Patrick shrugged.

"Whatever, okay, let's go. I'm freezing my ass off."


End file.
